


Burdens

by anonymousAlchemist



Series: Terrible AU's to break your heart. [1]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Gen, as opposed to the one where wirt becomes the beast, the one where greg becomes the beast, which i might also write tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the Beast is the empty shadow of a young boy, with bright large eyes and a piping voice. They say the Beast is insane, arbitrary, scatterbrained and wild, a dancing specter in the mist. That when you hear singing with no source in the depths of the forest, it is him you hear. The croak of a frog and the chirp of a bluebird are both unlucky omens. Do not approach young children in the deep and misted woods. </p><p>They say he is often trailed by the Woodsman, a tall thin slip of a man in a pointed hat and flowing cloak, ragged on the ends. He carries an axe and a dancing-flame lantern, following the Beast in his wanderings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Or, the one where Greg becomes the Beast, not Wirt. Came out of a facebook conversation with a friend. Part of the "Terrible AU's to break your heart" series. Hope you enjoy!

 

_“Are you ready to face true darkness?”_

_“Are you?”_

_He blows the lantern out. A terrible scream. A boy’s shout. A teenager’s terrified questioning. Two large eyes blink open, luminous and blank. A lantern reignites._

_There must always be a Beast, and there must always be the Unknown. What host it takes, that is the question._

 

They say the Beast is the empty shadow of a young boy, with bright large eyes and a piping voice. They say the Beast is insane, arbitrary, scatterbrained and wild, a dancing specter in the mist. That when you hear singing with no source in the depths of the forest, it is him you hear. The croak of a frog and the chirp of a bluebird are both unlucky omens. Do not approach young children in the deep and misted woods, for they may be the beast.

They say he is often trailed by the Woodsman, a tall thin slip of a man in a pointed hat and flowing cloak, ragged on the ends. He carries an axe and a dancing-flame lantern, following the Beast in his wanderings.

 

They say he recites poetry as he chops down the Edelwood, and sometimes weeps.

 

They say the Woodsman has some strange power over the Beast, that to have his favor is to be protected from the encroaching vines and darkness of the woods. That the Woodsman can stop the Beasts in his tracks. The Woodsman must be some sort of enchanter, some sorcerer to have tamed such a wild being. Out of this hope, the Woodsman is allowed to pass freely from town to town, he is reluctantly accepted, is given a plate of food at any house he knocks on. He pays no tolls and accepts no payments. Over time, this becomes custom.

But be wary, the townsfolk say, be wary, for the Woodsman is no friend of man. The Woodsman protects the Beast above all, and though he wishes no ill will upon us, he is both master and servant of the Beast and bound to cut the Edelwood. So be warned and wary, child, when you venture forth into the darkness.

 

In a clearing, by the cold moonlight, a single figure approaches an inn. Axe resting on shoulder, lantern shining bright, cape flowing.

He shoves the door open, displacing the sleeping dog. The music stops, the revellers and diners and innkeeper stare for a moment, and glance away. They remember the Woodsman from when he carried another name, another title. They remember a young man and his brother. Young Lover, Pilgrim. He never did make his way home to his lost love, did he.

The Woodsman looks around, carefully, sees a man surrounded by books and piles of parchments and plate and mug. He sits down next to him. The innkeeper brings him a plate and mug, without his asking, and he nods in thanks, setting axe down, but not the lantern. He makes no move to take off his cape and hat. He looks toward the Mapmaker.

“Excuse me, could you give me some directions?”

The Mapmaker nods, startled by the conversation.

 

“Sure, where are you headed off to?”

“Eastern Swampways. Near Auntie Whispers.”

“Oh sure, sure, I know that way by heart.”

 

He scribbles a quick map on a scrap of paper, passes it to the Woodsman who tucks it carefully into his pocket, before putting fork to plate. The two eat and drink in silence for a moment. The Mapmaker clears his throat,

“Why do you carry the lantern, Woodsman? I’ve heard that it’s a bit of a recent acquisition for you.”

The Woodsman laughs without mirth, shrugs, and says,

“My brother’s soul is in there. So I have to keep it lit.”

He looks down into his mug, and says as if he is quoting some long gone saying,

“I’m his older brother, after all, it’s my burden to bear.”

 

The Woodsman looks young and fragile in that moment. Too young for all of this. The Mapmaker regrets his curiosity. The Woodsman takes a deep breath, and solidifies into a hardy, empty man.

 

“Thank you for the directions.”

 

He drains his mug, leaves the crackling fire and cheer of the inn, venturing back into the cold night. The revelers and diners and innkeeper watch him leave. The mist swallows him up as he goes.

In the distance, a small voice.

“Wirt! What took you so long? I was waiting forever.”

“I was just stopping by the inn, Greg. Getting directions.”

“Oh, ok. C’mon, lets go then!”

 

Their shadows disappear into the fog.

 

 

 

In the distance, the sounds of chopping.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com for more otgw and or other associated things or if you just wanna talk.  
> Also, many thanks to Aaron at @ayayroncooper on twitter for hashing out ideas w/ me thanks bro you're a bro


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